Ectocardiologists
by tuckluck
Summary: Dave enjoys life as a scientist. It would be even better if the people in his lab didn't have trust issues.
1. Introduction

Your ID badge says you're Dave Strider, so let's go with that.  
One thing you like about this industry is that you can watch people make life-changing discoveries while you're just standing around. Chances are, if it's life-changing for them, it's an epiphany for you, too, and you don't have to do any work to pay for such profound realizations. It's like living within a nuclear blast radius.  
There's suspense in watching people, and though you usually can't refrain from inserting a snide comment, you couldn't manage one after Dr. Serket explained her theory to you. Your brother taught you to be vigilant, but what she said is something that you willfully never allowed to cross your mind, so as she speaks, the truth appears before your eyes just as if you were developing film. Except now you wished you had torn down the curtains and exposed everything to the light, because this is something you may not want to hear.  
Vriska jangling the keys. The wet sound as her lips drag over her teeth when she smiles, because you know she has waited for this for a long time. The grating sound of the key fitting into the file cabinet, and the scraping of metal as it's pulled open.  
She's going to destroy your image of John, you just know it, she'll take it and dash its head on the rocks, and glass will spill everywhere because that picture is something you have _framed_. You would protest, but your can't just explain to Vriska that just because John acts like a decent, considerate person doesn't mean that he's too soft to be the owner of such a big corporation and he doesn't have to have a dark secret that lets him do it all. She wouldn't listen. Vriska wants to be the government, and she's not easily convinced. Look at how easily she's driven you to suspicion.  
She got you to break into John's office with her, for fuck's sake, and now you're standing here ready to go through his stuff like you're some sort of burglar.  
She has to be lying, but you still wonder; you're still new here. Sure, you were mad, but it's John's own fucking fault for being so sweet.


	2. Dave Writes Some Stuff

When you first arrived, he was your first human contact in a world of bubbling concoctions. He had smart blue eyes and a firm handshake, the perfect start to a cheesy office romance. You must have charmed him enough, because eventually he started to take time off from his responsibilities to do the things for you that other people were hired for.

True, he made you eat on the stairs during the lunch break because he said your chips would stain his carpet, and you didn't hesitate to point out that he was basically kicking you to the curb, but finally he stopped making such a big deal out of things and then you two left greasy fingerprints all over the computers together. Buying him more Doritos was the best decision you ever made.

And in those long, agonizing months when he had to leave to go to a conference halfway across the world-every great man has his calling; once you give people your number you never get any sleep anymore-he made sure to stock your lab with everything you could possibly need. You made a lot of baking soda volcanoes, something you're not gonna deny.

Late nights were what did it for you though. Kanaya, organized as always, insisted everyone keep deadlines, and Karkat would softly yell at anyone who didn't, so it was always an effort for you to finish things. John would stumble in sleepily to try and keep you awake when he wasn't even halfway there himself, but eventually you got so used to his presence and so jaded when it came to this hour that he had to try new things to keep you awake. He kissed your cheek once, and for the longest time it seemed like a dream because you still gave up and fell asleep on the keyboard afterwards. Was it? There was no way of knowing.

Shit. You have to ask him directly, which is not your style at all. You mull it over for so long that it doesn't go right. You're up late dissecting the auricular structures of horned toads again, and when your eyes slip closed, you dream that you did ask him. According to dream-John, it never happened. He just gives you a funny look, and you see less and less of him as time goes on. It's his back disappearing down a glass-lined hall.

When your feet are off your desk and you're ready to work again, you wake up to a Eustachian tube being crushed by a woman's pointy nail.

"So, whatcha been dreaming about?" Vriska asks.

She's always had a rather invasive interest in the mind; it's what she built her career on. Rose once said that it came from inner confusion and a desire to give the nefarious thoughts in her mind a bit of company by finding the same ones in others, and although that may be true, the colored, imaginative tendrils of other callings pushed through and wanted more: stories, images, that could be reused again and again but never be the same. When they were fully developed, she became interested in dreams, the mystical side of science where everything somehow had to make sense. Had to.

You see her in the corner of your eye uncovered by your shades.

"I can't tell you. They're really not that easy to remember," you tell her, and that's not a lie. Trying to recall the finer points of your dream requires you to reach past a barrier.

"Then tell me what they are, Ribbits, so someone else can remember them."

A moment's pause.

"I see you've noticed the frog." They both glance back down at the table where the animal is lying in a puzzle all over the table.

"Doesn't look much like a frog anymore," Vriska commented. "But are you going to tell me what you remember or not?"

"Oh, darn. Looks like you've seen through my obvious attempt to chance the subject. I must be cornered now. For some reason, the wall on my right is an ugly shade of green. Not something I wanna die in front of."

"Oh, please. Sharing a teensy bit of information with your fellow bluestocking's about as far from an execution as you can get."

You sigh oh-so dramatically.

"Not to be mean, but Rose is the one that usually helps me with this stuff. What would she think if I suddenly decided to go with another therapist?"

"I'm just asking for a simple summary! Look—" she counts on her fingers "—eight words!"

You twirl around in your chair a bit more not unlike a top that's winding down and about to fall over. Why not give in? It's never good to make a big thing out of nothing.

"It's not much, just some worries about my relationship with John is all."

Vriska cocks an eyebrow. She's almost sure you don't have anything to worry about; John has been skipping lunch with her in order to visit with you, and before you they had been as close as two crossed fingers.

"I think he kissed me but I'm not sure. It has that fuzzy quality of a dream in my memory but I could have thought about it so much that I just made it seem that way. Can you even do that? Like is this real or...it was just a peck on the cheek but still...and I was going to bring it up again but then if it didn't happen, I'm pretty much screwed."

"Was this when you were finishing that joint report last week?"

"Yeah, that sounds right."

"Well of course I can't tell you what actually happened, but what I do know is that John's really excited over you. He mentions you a lot."

Well, if she's right like you think she is, then you are in the clear to test out your ironically funny chemistry-related pick up lines on him. You'll wait for the perfect time and place, ambush him like you're gonna steal his coins and then surprise him with some good old Comedy Gold, atomic number 79.

It's July, the month when Bro used to make a point to take you down to the gas station to get Popsicles on Saturday. Texas had to be the hottest state in existence, and sometimes you wondered if it was even worth it to go outside, but still, you went, even though Bro nearly suffocated you with his sleeve or armpit every time you went down there to protect your underaged head from gas fumes.

July for your coworkers, however, means something different. They've all been working here at least a few years longer than you, and they know what's coming up: annual reports. Inventory will have to be tallied, data summed up, and a big team meeting scheduled for sometime in the next few weeks. You've gotten three memos about it in the past two days, and it's the same one because everyone forwards everything in a goddamn circle. It's exasperating, really, but it's the only way to reach some people.

John's work keeps him occupied for a long time and you're kind of bummed out, so you spend a good ten minutes forwarding emails and bandying words before you decide to work on your project.

Your ultimate goal is to find a way to modify the human ear in a way that enables it to hear higher frequencies like dogs and porpoises, but since this entails studying the inner ears of several different species, sometimes you get distracted and just end up creating musical tunes tailored to the individual capabilities of each creature based on what it can hear and what gives the best responses. Nothing's been especially sensitive to your taste in music so far, which is just like you'd expect, but it's also disappointing-no new companions for you and your subwoofer nor your sick lyrics. You had thought those were hot commodities. It's all a very melodic change, catchy foreign sounds that at first made everyone accuse you of being into eurythmics. So when John finally gets out of his office and visits you in your colorless kitchen of a lab, you cross your arms and make an extra effort not to sway with the rhythm. You feel too stiff, so you remind yourself to relax your face for him. Also you remove your headphones. You can hear him perfectly well through them, but he's more likely to know you're listening if they're resting around your neck.

"Hey Dave, just letting you know, we're gathering in the conference room for a meeting today at three."

Rather short notice, but apparently a meeting around this time of year was traditional according to the other employees. You don't have a strict schedule, and it doesn't disrupt anything, so you're pretty sure you can make it even though the room is on the other side of the building.

"What are we discussing?" you ask.

"You'll see when you show up!"

In other words, it's probably a free card to talk about what's been interesting you for the past couple months, so it shouldn't be too hard. You've had more facts than you knew what to do with for a long time now, and plenty of diagrams besides. But if you have so many, you can only wonder how many the others have, and that might seriously drag out the meeting.

"Hold on. Is it going to be long?" Asking can't hurt. You just want an estimate of the timeframe.

"Um. Yes? We have to discuss annual progress reports."

John answers like he's afraid that you'll refuse to go, and you'd do no such thing. You care about this place just as much as he does, and that will always be the case.

"Shit. That's a lot of PowerPoints. I'm already mourning all the duplicated themes," is what you say to let him know that sadly, you will be sitting through all of it. Your pained smile is the perfect expression. It seems John knows what you're talking about although you bet he used one himself.

"So many duplicated themes," he bemoans. "I know they make new ones, so what happened?"

"Do they really? I've never seen them. Creating new themes is a dead art. If you don't believe me, I'll be wearing black for the rest of the month, you organize the funeral."

"I'm starting every epitaph with 'Lorem Ipsum'."

"Don't you dare."

He smiles at you like he knows you've gotten way off topic, because he only stepped in here to give you a quick notification, and he still has Karkat, Rose, and Kanaya to bring up to speed and suddenly it's turned into something else.

What are you guys talking about, burying the technology that you've been using ever since the fifth grade? Originally, you had different intentions. The next time you saw him, you wanted to tell him that he's a person you wouldn't ever mind returning kisses to, and whose glasses you wouldn't mind cleaning at night because a) you already have to do yours and b) John without glasses is like Superman before he came to Earth: an average rendition, but still attractive.

It's really awful that he has to leave immediately and keep playing the messenger boy to deliver the news about the conference, so you try to follow him until you both realize that it would be more efficient if you take Karkat and he does the others. Karkat takes a little convincing because the guy never likes to be interrupted when he's in the middle of something, but eventually he agrees to come.

Before you know it, you're staring at the walls down in the conference room, the very picture of progress.

You can't say that the others exactly flocked to the meeting, but here they are, seated at every angle perpendicular to you like they're restrained by some sort of grid. Most have decided to stay in their casual clothes and lab coats, but Kanaya, always an exception, has chosen a skirt to go with a smart-looking blouse, and of course John is in a suit for anyone wondering if he was dry-cleaner friendly. While only Karkat sits immediately in front of you, the row of workers to your sides extends all the way down to the head of the table. This is usually John's seat, but right now he's standing at the podium, ready to start the meeting off with an announcement.

He begins with an introduction and a welcome directed more at you than anyone else since this is your first time here; it's more a formality than anything. Still, it's a personal one if that's even possible. You can see Vriska making hand signals up front to tell him to get on with it, and soon you find what she's so excited about.

Egbert Laboratories, paradoxically shortened to E-Labs, has been nominated to receive an award for its work in the natural sciences. As the founder, John himself will be accepting it on stage on behalf of the entire team of researchers and independents that work here. John owes much to Rose, whose insistence on staying a member in the scientific community has finally paid off. Her clear-cut reasoning as to why everyone couldn't simply stay involved in their work without contacting the world beyond the island came through, and she acknowledges it with a half-smile; just like before, this small celebration is shared-half for her, half for John.

This is wonderful and you can't fucking believe he expects everyone to take this sitting down.

Once John takes his seat at the head of the table, Vriska announces what she's been working on with Kanaya. By now, you've already caught a glimpse of their literal horned toads, but what you didn't know was that they could jump twice as far and that they're preparing a shipment to be sent off to a facility on the other side of the mainland. Karkat is still speechless when his turn comes around.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

"Put your caterpillars back behind your shades, Strider, I'm thinking," Karkat says when he gets his voice back. Five minutes later, he's still declaring that he's not ready to put up with this, but after another eyebrow wiggle prompted by John, he spits out that he's still analyzing the blood in John's clones and then stomps out the door.

A scientist with short hair and unique glasses that you haven't met yet gets up to follow him, and with John and Vriska talking among themselves, you'd guess that the meeting is almost over. You glance at the air vent and are close to convincing yourself that it really is fascinating when it's time to leave, and you don't have any regrets. You plan to go congratulate John personally, but he comes to you instead with a worried look on his face.

"Dave, I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean? I thought this recognition would be a great thing."

"It is, but-" he takes a deep breath"-I'm not too good at public speaking."

You're flattered that he's come to you with this, but you also wonder how this can be. Public speaking and corporate success usually go hand in hand, but this company is a little quirky.

"If you get nervous, just look at me in the front. I'll be watching you the entire time, no need to freak out. Pretend my gaze has calming powers."

"No, it's fine."

"Sure?"

"Thanks, but it's not that. The last time I went on stage, I thought Vriska was going to give me moral support, but afterwards she kinda told me the speech sucked."

"Wow. Number one fan material right there. We should send her to the front of the ticket line."

"No, but the thing is, it was really true. I didn't feel anything when I was saying the words. I felt like a bad actor. Vriska was only telling me something I needed to know," John protests.

"Shouldn't you be going to her then? If she was the one to criticize you, then she knows what needs to be fixed."

"She told me herself she's only good with the 'destructive criticism' part."

You scratch your chin thoughtfully, hoping that somehow it'll help you come up with the words you need to help him. If he wants you to write him a speech, then you're all for it; it's not that different from writing rap. The only things you have to keep in mind is that you're choosing from a formal palette of words, painting with oil instead of tempera-so what if you preferred digital art in your teens, you're cultured now, whatever that means-rhyming less, and generally refraining from saying things that are offensive. It's telling about yourself in a way that appeals to a more educated palate, minus all the smackdowns.

"So to clarify, you need help writing the speech, not giving it?"

"Right."

Whoa. From how composed he looked sitting at the head of the meeting table, you never would have known he had a problem like this.

"Do you have the last speech you made on video?"

"Yeah, but it's at home."

"Let's go get it, then," you say, and you try to pull him up from his chair by his tie like you've seen in glamorous porn. Long story short, it doesn't work, he ends up coughing, and you jerk your hands back like you've hit an electrical wire as if you could prove it wasn't you by the missing proximity of your hands. Then it dawns on you how heartless it is to choke someone and leave him on his own, and your hands are around his neck loosening his tie faster than you can think. You try to massage his neck to make it feel better, but once you notice how warm it is, you notice how cold your hands are, and suddenly you want to freak out because you're touching a person that you like.

You snatch your hands back again, and you walk out calmly. That was supposed to be a smooth move, and you tripped over a pothole. Now the wisest thing to do is to put as much distance between you as possible until the road can be repaved.

John goes after you, trying to catch up while simultaneously fixing his tie.

"I'm okay, Dave, you don't have to leave—"

"Nope. You're not sweet-talking me out of this one. I'm moving away. Never going to show my face again in these parts."

You swear it, but you still find yourself waiting for the elevator with him at your side. It's a short walk down another flight of stairs to the parking lot, and a little ways to his house, where you do watch the video as promised.

The only problem you see is what he said, that he's not passionate enough, like he doesn't believe in what he's saying at all. But once that's out of the way, you have the entire evening to yourselves.

You both remove your ties and jackets, and watch a movie since you're already in front of the TV. It's not _Young Frankenstein_, but you suppose it's still pretty funny. When the comedy drops off near the middle, John tries to fill the gap with his own jokes, most of them puns, and they get so bad that you have to turn the movie off altogether.

It gets late, and when you leave, you give John a peck on the cheek like he did to you earlier. He doesn't object, so maybe you do have something going here.

You must be more excited than you thought coming home from John's place, because you launch into writing the script you promised him as soon as you get home. The process isn't as simple as you made it sound earlier, but if you've hung around him enough today to pick up some of his mannerisms-you caught yourself stiving a pencil behind your ear last night, and even when you're part of it you can't comprehend that level of nerdiness-hopefully you're closer to knowing what he wants. In the end, you spew so much truth that it'd be deafening if it weren't masked by loads of crowd-pleasing ironies, so you don't get how hearing something like this could be anything less than a reward.


	3. That's Not Right

How the name "Ampora" strikes a nerve. It'd been a while since the last time you wanted to punch a guy's face in without knowing what it looked like, but after John commissioned him to redo all of your work, you seriously considered renewing your membership to the Fight Club. He said it would be his "life's work", but if John Egbert thinks he's gonna accept more devotion from a freelancer, you'd say that all the fumes have altered his brain.

You could have been mildly saddened by the thought that maybe you started out with less than an equal chance on account of short notice; you also weren't even working here when John was working on whatever he did to get such recognition.

Or you could have held a light grudge knowing your frustration would pass in a few hours. John's hard to be mad at, so you guess from the beginning you had no choice other than to let your grudges float away down some metaphorical sparkling river.

The island's rivers pour back into a lake behind the building to create a sanctuary for frog breeding purposes, so using them would bring you right back to where you started.

You know that if you ever caught John feeling this way, you'd keep him in bed and bring him a gift basket full of bunnies and cookies until he felt better so long as he wasn't busy being the cause of your problem. Each one would have colored cellophane and curly ribbons and look like it came straight from Easter. Forget the job, you'd probably stay in bed with him too, so long as it didn't freak him out.

When Vriska came and caught you during your mood, you must have been only half listening because you decided to go along with what she said. She mentioned that no one working here in this semi-secluded laboratory did so without second thoughts. If you're not at the top, running it all, then your questions are shared with the rest of the staff at your level, the associates like you-even if you've worked for years to get this smart. He's worked a long time to set this all up for everyone-he's the stopper on the bottle, because he is at the top, and he's also the one that keeps everything from exploding. But the thing is, the way he does it-he doesn't have the attitude you'd expect for the director of this classified shebang, the haughtiness or alienating frigidity of a top scientist, she explained. He's wide-eyed, friendly, and innocent, despite all the competition in the field. Plus, you run genetic experiments, and that sounds scary in itself.

You have no idea why you bought this crap, especially since he dissed your composition, but mixed feelings pulled you over to her side.

John has a secret, you're sure. While it would be pleasant uncovering it using your powers of friendly seduction because he really is attractive in that know-it-all, geeky way, she led you to the file cabinets in his office when no one was looking.

You want to look over her shoulder because you're curious too, but you stand back because you're not used to being eager. You're used to being all those French words that mean you either don't care or are too good for everybody. Instead, you look up, and there's the security camera like a bird on your shoulder, seeing everything but silent for the most part, except for when it pivots or refocuses the lens. Maybe it's not paying attention. Maybe it's preening its feathers and Gamzee is combing his hair at the moment instead of paying attention to what's happening on your screen.

She casually sticks the keys in the lock of the next file cabinet over, because she probably plans on doing that one next.

For a minute you fantasize about reaching out to Tavros so he can save the day. Once he realizes something's going on, his voice comes over the loudspeaker and stops it all-or he argues with Vriska, one of the two. You don't though, because didn't you want this, too?

"Don't you just love new knowledge?"

she asks, a fond smile still on her face as she continues thumbing through the tabs on the files.

You guess so, but who can help being curious?

"Hmmm...well there's finances, contact info, stuff about our recent experiments," she lists "-mine's not number eight in here, better change that-so where do you think we should start?"

Contacts, definitely.

After making a note of its position among the other folders in the drawer, she pulls it out on the floor for you both to dissect. Any unfamiliar names you won't hesitate to cross-reference.

"What about this one? Heard of it?" This one half way down the third page interests you, and you wonder if Vriska knows the name.

"Nope. Check it."

You're busy typing in Firsts inc. into the search bar on your smartphone when suddenly she flips to the back of the pile where the employee info is kept.

"No way," she mouths, staring at the paper in disbelief.

What you're doing is criminal enough, so you suppose you can afford to look casually eager this time.

"What is it? Gold, my Captain?"

Vriska pulls out a notebook from her pocket and scribbles in it furiously before cramming the file back in the drawer.

"Uh-uh. Just a bucket of worthless rubies, hope you're not disappointed," she hastily mollifies before moving on to the next cabinet. You're standing on the sidelines, barely getting your hands dirty, and you wonder how invested in this you are at all. Sure, you didn't want to discover anything bad about John from the beginning, but if it was there, you did want to know. You wanted the cold, hard, truth. As with any enamoration, such a piece of ice could probably sit right in front of you until it melted, but eventually you would realize it through a cruel bit of fridge logic. And then what? Would you quit? Break it off? You're friends.

"Do I get a little explanation, or do I get to stand here and choke on hard gems?" you ask. If she's found something incriminating, well, that's what you came down here for. You sneak a glance back at the camera; it's impossible to know what the guards are thinking.

"You're really loud for someone who's choking."

"That may be, but I still want to know what you mean."

"It's just-I came across the name of someone here that I used to compete with all the time in college. I almost didn't get accepted because of her," Vriska explains, the bitterness in her voice apparent.

You have a hard time seeing how any place would turn down someone as smart as Vriska. She can be polite when she wants to be, so interviews shouldn't have been a problem at all.

"What did she do?"

"She was blind. And you know how those places love the disabled."

You grabbed your post-secondary education online, so you never experienced that, but that sucks.

There's a possibility you can achieve some sort of temporary homeostasis between being afraid for this blind girl and the relief that John's still an undeserved angel in your head. Defeated, you take it.

You're thinking again. Cushioned headphones are covering your ears, and ever since you were a teen you learned that it was almost the universal signal for "stay away". Bro could have cared less, but the teachers informed you that it was rude. Almost as if to prove them wrong, it's become the way you think best.

John evidently wants to prove society wrong by the way he comes up behind you and taps you on the shoulder while you're wearing this fancy headband. You wish he wasn't so close, because every touch feels like it has the power to let him know you, know your actions, turn the cogs both ways and know them in the past and future.

He tapped you on the left, but instinct says he'll pop up on the right.

Since you'd rather not look over your shoulder at all, you use your headphones as an escape.

"Special experiment," you mouth, and then get as far away as you possibly can because it's just a bad time.

Taking your break alone on the grassy roof of the complex, you try to convince yourself that what you did is no different than going through someone's text messages. Up here, you can believe whatever you want, no matter what proof lies in store beneath you. It's foolish, but then you push that thought away and tell yourself that it doesn't matter because you really came up here to finish your apple juice. Then you run out of apple juice.

Truth be told, you're just prolonging the inevitable: you're Rose's test subject again, confined to S block and subject to her every whim. You never finished going through the cabinets with Vriska because there were mounds of paperwork in there and putting stuff like that anywhere near your brain tends to trigger an automatic shutoff, but Rose has her hallway designed to soothe minds worse off than that. You've wondered several times how much of the budget has been spent on candles and wall sconces, but she'll never tell you. Though you have to admit, the carpet is a nice touch.

When you open the door, you expect Rose to be sitting with her legs crossed, ready to write down all your deepest troubles on a stiff clipboard, completely focused on you. Actually, you think you may have walked in on something between her and Kanaya-you didn't know she came down here.

"Dave, hi!" Rose starts when you walk in. "You forgot to make an appointment, but that's no problem. It's still as good a time as any."

"Are you finishing up with Kanaya?" you ask, expecting a response in the negative.

The biogeneticist looks too nervous to be done with her session.

"No, as a matter of fact we haven't even started anything. She's not sure yet whether it behooves her to obtain a third party evaluation."

"Do you want more time with her, then?"

Ross glances over at her raven-haired companion to confirm.

"I prefer to sleep on it," Kanaya says.

"So we're ready to go, then," you announce, but before you can sit down, Kanaya breaks in with a request.

"Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I were to observe this discussion?"

"Not really, but only if you can stay absolutely detached like the most apathetic Greek statue while Rome is fucking burning. My secrets are not for human ears." you reply, not sure how lightly the other employees will take your casual breach of security. Especially because you're relatively new here.

"Rose is a human, though," Kanaya points out, leaving it up to you to point out that no, for the next hour, she's a psychologist, and that and a human are two very different things. A psychologist doesn't play into your rage when her cat sits on your glasses or kick the wall the way you think about doing when someone says your writing isn't focused enough. Instead, she encourages you to express these feelings yourself instead of remaining like the aforementioned Greek statue all the time. You have taken her advice; more often than not you use your raps as a vent for all your daily frustrations, but then she wants you to come up with an immediate method for when you can't go straight to your room, and that is not humanly possible for someone who spends as much time being chill as you.

You didn't explain it in that much detail, but you covered the basics.

"I gather that forming a relationship with your psychologist is rather trying," Kanaya observes.

"That's not so," Rose assures her. "It's natural for people to become more difficult as they enter this room simply because this is where they grow accustomed to bringing all their problems to the surface. It's natural for them to adopt a disagreeable mood during the meeting, but that doesn't stop me from listening the best I can."

Kanaya bunches her eyebrows thoughtfully.

"So you really think I should try this?"

"It's up to you."

Rose gives her a shrug and a small smile, and then there's a long pause where you think she's waiting for your endorsement, so you grudgingly admit that she's the best you've ever had, you'll never leave her, etc. She must really want this client, you discuss one of your old problems to let Kanaya see how she would be handled. Then the hour is up and Rose has to get back to her work, so in the end the first to get the news is Karkat, who takes it upon himself to fix everything.

He snags you your own private table at lunch, where it's no one but you and a whole lotta Karkat. Your first instinct is to point out that his lab coat is two sizes too big on him, but you're distracted wondering if it's possible to hear you over his own shouting.

"What did you expect, Strider? What was the point of actually trying to find something in there? Would it help you do your job?"

He's so loud that you almost expect everyone to look over.

"Why did you get us our own table if you're going to yell our discussion to everyone here?" you ask, leaning in to show that at least one person cares to keep it down.

"That's not important," your colleague pushes back, although he does make an effort to be quieter.

"I can't imagine what you're like in libraries."

"No fucking importance!" he finishes scolding. "You try to start a relationship with someone, and then you break into their stuff? Way to display some trust, assclown."

"How did you find out about this anyway?"

"When John's advisor comes to you herself and then brags until you want to clock yourself out with a sledgehammer, it gets fucking hard to remain ignorant."

"John still doesn't know."

Karkat heaves a giant sigh and pushes his food away, which is fine with you until he gives you a long glance that means you should, too. You don't sigh quite as loudly as he did when you do it.

"Do I have to lay down stepping stones for you to help you get to the next meaningless promotion?"

"Do you mean that literally or is that like a code word for second base?" When Karkat's glare doesn't ease up, you figure you've teased him enough and should probably get around to explaining yourself if you want to take anything out of this experience.

"Look, maybe it wasn't the most irreproachable decision, but it's a little frustrating when you work on something for hours just for the person you're working for to reject it. I guess I was still pretty bummed out when Vriska came to me. I was also a little curious."

You explain to him about the speech and Vriska's less-than-helpful remarks while he listens calmly, and then gradually exaggerate the part about the crippling shame and how you walked away from John last time. If he thinks you enjoy talking about your problems then he's completely wrong, but it's hard to stop once you get started. There are a few times where you look down at your watch and you can't believe how much you've said. Karkat's as weird as you are though, so it's not like he can judge too harshly.

The only bad thing is that he thinks you should tell John, and that's something you're not gonna do.

Before you know it, he's already called John over. You miss your headphones. You put your hands to your neck, your ears, your head, anywhere they would naturally be hanging on your body, but why do you only feel bare skin?

No, you'd rather not.

When you get up to walk away, John's right there and he stops you by the arms. Whether you're guilty or you're angry, you thought you had it sloppily patched over with a band-aid until Karkat ripped it off and exposed the red skin beneath. Please don't be blushing.

"Hey, Karkat!" John says, and you can feel the color seeping into your pale cheeks.

"Sit down. Dave has some bullshit to impart that's slowly going to become part of your earwax, so listen closely."

You'd prefer it if they didn't urge you past your instinctive laconicism, because it's not like you to be bleeding out like this. A typical person wouldn't catch you dwelling on things; your way is to do and forget. Lovely how love has made you stupid.

You worry that you're rambling, but you can't be because Karkat keeps interrupting you to repeat his earlier questions for John's benefit. John frowns slightly, and suddenly you're reminded that he's your employer and everything you're not. He's not looking at you like he adores you anymore.

"Karkat, where are you going with this?" you ask, because he's probably made more things worse than better. "Not that your services weren't fantastic, but I think I feel even crappier than when I started."

"It's not supposed to /feel good/, the point is to get you to be honest with each other. What, you thought I would wave my fingers and suddenly have you two kissing again?"

"Well, yeah!" That /was/ what you were hoping for.

"Karkat, stop arguing with Dave! It's my turn to do that!" John says, causing your grumpy counselor to leave in a huff.

"You're fired," he says, and it hits you out of the blue. You feel like you just started working here, and you worked hard to get here, too. There's no way getting fired is this easy. You search his face for any signs of jest, but there's no hint of a smile there, no quirk to the lips.


End file.
